


Gilt

by KestrelShrike



Series: Anthesis-Side Stories [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Mild Smut, Smut, sort of nsfw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-14
Updated: 2015-04-14
Packaged: 2018-03-22 19:19:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3740575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KestrelShrike/pseuds/KestrelShrike
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Solas and Lavellan talk Orlesian politics. In bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gilt

“Do you think it pained them to give these rooms to an elf?” Every piece of furniture had gold on it, the wood all solid and richly polished. Hers had its own fireplace, needlessly large. Had it been fully stoked, the room would have been stifling. It certainly looked impressive. Orlesians were a strange people.

“Two elves, though my room is not nearly as splendid as this.” Solas lounged in one of the padded chairs the room had, his back to the flames. “None the less, I must retreat to what they have given me. I am told we will be leaving early tomorrow.” He stood up to leave but Maiwe moved to block him, her hand resting on his arm, maintaining firm pressure. 

“Stay. Please. Don’t leave me just yet.” Better yet if he didn’t leave her at all, if they shared one bed and one room. It had happened in the Fade, but it had not yet happened in the flesh. After all that had happened tonight, perhaps it was time. There was still tension in the air, a political mess that would take years to fully sort out. Luckily, it was not the responsibility of the Inquisition. Maiwe had done her part- Orlais would have to do the rest. 

Solas sat back down. A smile small played on his lips as he watched her move about the room, nervously closing drapes and smoothing bedcovers that had already been expertly made. 

“Do you think I made the correct decision? Should I have let Celene die?” So much power resting in her hands; she had literally been given the opportunity to decide the fate of a monarch. Though others had given Maiwe advice, they had all deferred to her opinion. Let the Empress be assassinated and risk a new monarch, or let her live and continue in her reign? It had been one of the most difficult decisions of her life. 

Ultimately, she had allowed Celene to live, stopping the assassination just in time. It had only been a few hours, and her mind turned over and over. Only months ago, most of the elven quarter in Halamshiral had been razed to the ground. It was said that some buildings were still smoking, but no one would show Maiwe the damage. They only let her see the palace, hoping she did not notice the elven servants. Most of them had been so afraid to speak to her, seeing the fine weave of her clothes over her pointed ears. They had little experience with the Dalish, apparently. They feared her. 

“Who can say ? We can only wait and see. You have done what you could for the elves here. Celene is certainly preferable to Gaspard.” Solas still watched her pace. Conscious of this, Maiwe stopped, and begun the process of unpinning her hair, stiff fingers moving down next to unbutton the needlessly complex buttons of the silly uniform Josephine had insisted they all wear. It had looked flattering on none of them. 

“You know how much I like waiting.” She felt his hands at the back of her neck, brushing her hair aside to plant a kiss. Her breath hissed inward, though Maiwe tried to keep calm. Her heart was pounding in anticipation. “You are a remarkably impatient woman sometimes, vhenan.” Another kiss at the top of her spine. There were buttons on the back that were difficult for her to reach, but he undid them easily. 

“The intricacies of human politics baffle me. The Dalish don’t have the Game.” She slid out of the jacket. There was a thin layer of mail underneath; enough to turn a blade aside if she was lucky. That went over her head, pooling on the floor. The firelight glinted off it dully. It needed to be polished, but that could wait. 

It was Maiwe’s turn to undo the buttons that were sewn onto Solas’ jacket. Identical uniforms. How silly. “The Dalish have little head for politics at all. You are different; you have grown beyond that.” Sometimes her heart still squeezed when he spoke ill of her people, but how could she disagree? Solas was completely correct. She had only to remind herself that the clan had effectively exiled her to harden once more. 

An evening of dancing and fighting had left the undershirts they both wore fairly sodden. “And if the Dalish could see me now, what would they think? That I’m a traitor. That I’ve aligned myself to a woman who slaughters elves. And yet, the Dalish don’t care about the city elves. They never have.” That was what she had been taught. It stung now, to look back and realize how prejudiced it was. The elves she had met tonight, though fearful, had been people, as worthy of respect as anyone else. 

“I have told you before, but the Dalish are wrong about many things.” Solas put his arms around her waist, slipping them under the wet cotton and lifting upward, his fingers brushing against her breasts. Politics and pleasure, mixed into one. 

“Mm, I would like to see what you would do differently.” Shirtless, she sought to even the odds, pulling off his own, one hand trailing down his chest. “But I thought we were discussing Celene.” 

His arms moved up under her to scoop her up, carrying her over to the bed. “We were. We still can. We can discuss how much Celene and her court would disapprove of two elves on their silk sheets.” Most did not think of Solas as having a sense of humor. Most would be very wrong. It was something he saved, showing most frequently to Maiwe. These jokes, the flashes of a quick and ready smile, were a true treat. 

“I imagine they would be most displeased. Let us leave our mark and see.”


End file.
